"I just moved here from Florida."

That sentence contains at least five follow-up questions she WANTS you to ask. Where in Florida? What brought you here? How long have you been in the area? What do you miss? How does it compare to here?

She handed them to you on a silver platter. And you said, "Oh cool. I come here every week. I love this band. Ummm... pretty crowded tonight."

She smiled politely. Nodded. And never texted you back.

I was that guy for years. Talking too much. Listening too little. Panicking about my next sentence while she was literally feeding me the answers.

Then I found 22 rules that fixed the whole thing. Rule number one: shut up and listen. She'll tell you exactly what to say.

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Instagram model posts on r/RoastMe, gets annihilated and deletes her account

"She Wants a Man, Not a Boy"

You asked her if she wanted to grab coffee. Then you asked if the time worked. Then you asked if the place was okay. Then you asked if she'd prefer tea.

Four questions. Four chances for her to say no. Four signals that you're terrified of making a decision.

Plan it. Pick the place. Pick the time. Tell her where to meet you. She'll either show up or she won't.

Either way, you look like a man instead of a scared little boy.

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resilient

Master Don Juan
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Before long you'll look like Donatella Versace with the personality of one of her handbags.
Well played, roaster, well played.
 

Serenity

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Are Ex's allowed to post? Well, here it goes:

You wish you were a real actress so people couldn't see right through you. You look like your major in college was gold digging. You might be able to marry rich if you knew what to do with a d!ck when you see one. You're so desperate for attention you've gone from self-posting on r/prettygirls and r/goddesses to r/roastme. Your little sh!t of a purse dog is the only true loyalty you'll ever find, and even that is contingent on you continuing to feed it. Your tattoos of guns pointing at your vagina are probably there because the dumb-@ss guys you've had to settle for need instructions in finding it under that Demi Moore-inspired bush of yours. You flossed your eyebrows more than a dentist flosses his teeth. Your nipples look like they had a fight with each other and are hiding on the opposite sides of your boobs. You obviously can't take criticism. You will die alone.
Damn, that's the best of them!

(Edited to make swear words clear)
 

"She Laughed All Night. Then She Ghosted You. Here's Why."

Dinner ran three hours. She laughed at everything. You walked her to her car thinking this one's locked in.

Then: nothing. Two texts. No reply. What happened?

You did what most men do on a great date. You filled every silence, answered every question, and left her with nothing to wonder about. No mystery. Nothing to sit with when she got home.

Rule 3 of the "22 Rules" changes the ending: tell her a little, hold back the rest, and let her imagination do the chasing. The ghosting stops too.

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